


for practicality's sake

by the_one_that_fell



Series: three words that became hard to say [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, relationship milestone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 02:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11026791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: Jack wakes up, makes breakfast, and is entirely unromantic.





	for practicality's sake

**Author's Note:**

> CW: vague hints at minor body image issues (past), and a lot of FOOD (oy with the food talk already)
> 
> first fic in the series not required reading for this one. all you need to know is this is an au where jack and bitty didn't get together at samwell and reconnected 10 years later.

When Jack slowly opened his eyes, he was so hungry he couldn't believe the sounds of his stomach hadn't woken Bittle, or the entire neighborhood, really. 

But Bittle was still passed out, face pressed uncomfortably into the gap between their pillows, Señor Bun squished under his chest, one eye dangling dangerously by a few threads. Jack made a mental note to dig out his pocket sewing kit and fix it before the eye came off entirely, then very reluctantly rolled out of bed. Normally, he'd let himself fall back asleep, or watch Bittle sleep a little longer in hopes he'd wake up soon and offer to make breakfast or just give Jack that silly, sleepy, just-woke-up smile, but Jack was starving and Bittle had been up late organizing his tax spreadsheet and just because he was the expert didn't mean Bittle had to cook  _ every _ meal. Jack was perfectly capable of making breakfast, thank you very much. 

After a teeth-brushing, face-washing pit stop, Jack ambled into his kitchen, scratching at his stomach absently. He and Bittle had both been trying to eat healthier — Bittle for the sake of preparing recipes for his aging demographic, Jack for his high cholesterol — but eggs and bacon sounded  _ so good _ this morning. Sighing, Jack knew he needed to use turkey bacon, and he'd cook the eggs in one of the hundred different kinds of vegetable oil they had in the pantry instead of leftover bacon grease. Instead of toast or pancakes, he knew Bittle would want some of the leftover fruit from his last (disastrous) recipe experimentation. 

“What fun is being retired if I still have to eat fruit?” Jack muttered to himself. “Bittle’ll love me no matter how clogged my arteries are.” 

“But he'll love you a lot longer if you just eat the gosh darn fruit, mister,” a voice from the doorway chastised. 

Bittle was leaning against the doorframe in an oversized Bruins shirt and oddly tight sweatpants. True to the chilly nature of early spring, he also had on the fuzzy bunny slippers Ford had gotten him as a joke for his brithday. They were utterly ridiculous, but Bittle wore them every morning until summer. 

“Hey,” Jack said, grinning. “Morning.” 

“None of that gross socializing crap until there's coffee in me,” Bittle mumbled, stumbling past Jack and patting his chest lightly. He flipped on the coffee maker and slumped against the counter, pushing his glasses up where they'd slipped down the bridge of his nose. “Honey, wear a shirt if you're making bacon.” 

Jack raised an eyebrow at him. “How'd you know I was ma-”

Bittle rolled his eyes fondly. “Honey, you always make bacon if given the chance. Bacon, chicken tenders, and chocolate chip cookies are your culinary staples. At least put on an apron.” 

Jack was pretty sure his body had faced a lot more abuse that flying specks of hot grease, but he also knew he liked the way Bittle looked at him when he wore only an apron over his sleep pants, so he simply pressed a kiss to Bittle’s head and pulled an apron off the hook in the pantry. 

“Thanks, sweetpea,” Bittle said, eyes still not quite focused. “Gotta keep you in one piece as long as possible.” 

“I doubt it's the shirtless cooking that'll be my demise, but thank you for worrying about me,” Jack teased as he began pulling the eggs and bacon from the fridge. 

The earthy scent of hot coffee began to waft through the small kitchen, and Bittle elbowed past Jack to very pointedly pull the tub of chopped strawberries and blueberries from the fridge. “So, I've got an interview today and then a meeting with those AmazonFresh guys about the commercial, so if you wanna do dinner’ll it'll probably be a bit later.” 

“We can just scrounge, if that's easier,” Jack said. “My place or yours?”

“Ugh, let me think,” Bittle sighed. “I've got leftover stir fry and  _ one _ veggie burger left. Some frozen burritos. Canned soup. You?” 

Jack put both pans on the stove, tossing the bacon into one and lightly sprinkling olive oil into the other. “I've got the leftover curry from last weekend and some grilled chicken. Maybe some broccoli, I’d have to check.” 

“I'll bring the stir fry here, we can have a buffet,” Bittle decided, perking up as the coffee pot chimed. “I'll have to stop at my place to drop off my camera bag anyway.” 

Despite the closeness of their apartments, Jack felt his life was so entwined in Bittle’s that even the smallest commute between seemed too much. “You should just move in with me,” he said as he began cracking eggs. “It'd make everything simpler.” 

It wasn't until he needed to flip the bacon that Jack realized the kitchen had gone deathly silent. He turned, afraid of what he might see on Bittle’s face. 

He was relieved to see mostly fondness, mixed with a bit of shock. “You really want me to move in with you?” Bittle asked uncertainly. “Or is this just some hypothetical?” 

If he was being honest with himself, Jack had wanted Bittle to move in with him ages ago, before they'd ever even kissed. “I want you to move in with me,” Jack said, playing with a loose string on the apron. “If you want to keep your own place, I understand, but I like waking up next to you every morning and that would be a lot easier if we just...consolidated.” 

“Consolidated.” Bittle’s mouth twitched, like he was trying not to laugh. “So, this is strictly a matter of practicality.” 

Jack resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes. The  _ only _ reason I want you to move in is so I don't keep leaving my clothes at your apartment. Not because I'm madly in love with you. Not at all.” 

“So romantic,” Bittle said, abandoning his coffee to move across the kitchen and pull Jack into a kiss. “I love you, too, and I'd love to move in with you.” 

“Cool,” Jack said, just to see Bittle’s exasperated expression. “How many slices of bacon do you want?” 

“Two,” Bittle said, patting his gut. “Watching my figure before the commercial shoot.” 

“More for me,” Jack said. “I'm retired. I get to have...what was it Holster liked to call it? Dad bod. I'm working on my dad bod.” 

Bittle choked on his laughter. “Oh my goodness, stop. I never thought I'd hear you say those words!” 

Jack turned off the stove and slowly untied his apron. “What's the matter, Bittle? Don't like my dad bod?” 

Bittle’s face was bright red as he struggled to breathe through the giggles. “No-no I  _ love _ your dad bo- nope, I can't call it that, I'm sorry. I love your body but I  _ can't-”  _

Jack grabbed Bittle by the back of the thighs and hoisted him up onto the counter, tucking himself between Bittle’s legs. Bittle was still laughing, but it became less hysterical as Jack shed the apron. Once upon a time, Jack would've felt self-conscious about the weight he'd gained since college, but when Bittle looked at him he couldn't think about anything but those big, kind eyes and the huge amount of love he saw behind them. Jack leaned up to kiss Bittle, soft and slow, thumbs tracing circles into the sensitive skin of Bittle’s inner thighs. Bittle shuddered and threaded his hands through Jack’s hair. 

“You've still got too much muscle for a dad bod,” Bittle said as they broke apart. “Once you lose that, we’ll talk.” 

“But I can't lose my muscle,” Jack said, tugging on Bittle’s earlobe with his teeth. “Then I wouldn't be able to manhandle you.” 

“Mm, what a shame,” Bittle deadpanned. “You do you, honeybun. Dad bod, no dad bod, doesn't matter to me. As long as that bod  _ eats some fruit and doesn't give out at age fifty-” _

“I'll eat the fucking fruit,” Jack said with a laugh. He grazed his teeth down the length of Bittle’s neck, relishing the hitch of Bittle’s breath. “There's some other things I'd like to eat first, though.” 

“Gross old man,” Bittle teased, but his breathlessness overruled any conviction he might've had. “Guess breakfast will have to wait.” 

Jack stomach growled loudly, making Bittle laugh again. “Or we could take a five minute break for some bacon?” 

“Always with the protein, Zimmermann,” Bittle said, poking Jack in the gut. 

Jack grinned and grabbed a few slices from the pan, only slightly burning his fingers. “Open up,” he said, dangling one of the pieces over Bittle’s head like a mama bird offering a worm to her baby. 

Bittle snorted but tilted his head back to grab at the bacon with his teeth. He tugged it out of Jack’s hand, and it landed on his face with a quiet smack. 

“Ew!” Bittle laughed, grabbing the bacon with his hand before it could fall to the floor. “Now I'm all greasy!” 

Jack gave Bittle a wicked grin and held his face still as he licked at the place the bacon had hit. Bittle shrieked and half-heartedly pushed at his chest, shouting a litany of, “ _ Ew, ew, Jack, that's gross! _ ” 

“All clean,” Jack said, smacking his lips and shoving an entire piece of bacon into his mouth. 

“You're disgusting,” Bittle said, primly nibbling on his own slice. “Absolute heathen.” 

“It's not like you're  _ not _ gonna be covered in my spit in, oh, ten minutes,” Jack countered, reaching for more bacon. 

Bittle glared at him. “We were having such a romantic morning. What happened to that Jack? I want him back.” 

“Was it really that romantic?” Jack asked around a mouthful of food. 

“More romantic than throwing bacon at my face,” Bittle mumbled. “Finish your food and take me back to bed. We have things to be celebrating.” 

“Yes,  _ sir, _ ” Jack said, swallowing quickly and hoisting Bittle off the counter before he could finish chewing. Despite his age and the aches and pains that came with years of intense athletics, Jack could still carry Bittle around when he really wanted to. And he wanted to pretty frequently. 

Bittle wrapped his legs around Jack’s waist and held on tight, sucking lightly at Jack’s pulsepoint. That only made Jack walk faster, all but throwing Bittle onto the bed —  _ their  _ bed. The thought of that made something warm fizz under his skin, and he scrambled onto the bed next to Bittle, kissing him deeply.

“Mmph, what's gotten into you?” Bittle asked, fingers digging into the flesh of Jack’s pecs. “So handsy before coffee.” 

“This is  _ our _ bed,” Jack murmured, lips against Bittle’s cheek. “In  _ our _ room. ‘Cause you said yes.” 

Bittle reached up and cupped his face in both small, calloused hands. Jack loved drinking in the sight of Bittle, the ways he'd changed since they first met. Back then he'd been scrawny and baby-faced, his golden hair always flopping in his eyes and his smile tentative, guarded, nervous. Now he was scooching closer to forty every day, face lined, body thicker and softer, and his smile…

Maybe it was just the smile he reserved for Jack, but it was bright and blinding and so unrelenting and unapologetic that Jack knew, deep in his gut, it would be the last thing on his mind before he died, it so intensely encompassed his whole heart. 

“Baby,” Bittle said softly, tracing Jack’s cheek with his thumb. “God, I love you so much. Of course I said yes. It's only practical.” 

Jack laughed and pulled Bittle into another kiss, dirtier and rougher than before. Bittle shoved at him until he rolled onto his back, and then Jack had a lapful of his favorite person, working very studiously on a hickey on his neck. 

“Bits…” he whined, but busied himself with pulling Bittle’s shirt off. 

“No more locker room fines for you, Jack,” Bittle said. “I've been saving up these hickeys like you wouldn't believe.” 

“I'm too old to have hickeys,” Jack muttered, then gasped when Bittle’s teeth scraped at the point just above his collarbone. “Nngh- don't stop.” 

“That's what I thought,” Bittle said, far too smugly. Then he paused and sat up straighter. Jack whined at the loss of contact. “Sugar, do you smell smoke?” 

“No-  _ oh, shit, the eggs. _ ” 

Jack bolted off the bed, accidentally dumping Bittle to the floor. He'd remembered to turn the burner off for the bacon, but the  _ eggs _ -

Were only a little bit on fire, as it turned out. Bittle got the window open before the smoke alarm could go off, and Jack shoved the pan out into the brisk morning air to cool down. The kitchen was hazy and unpleasant, but Bittle darted around to turn on the fan and open all the doors and windows he deemed appropriate. 

Once he finished that task, Bittle tucked himself into Jack’s side, shivering shirtless in the breeze. “I can't believe you nearly burned down our apartment,” he said into Jack’s chest. Jack bit back a smile at how casually he said “our.” 

“I guess then I would've had to move in with  _ you _ ,” Jack said mildly, wondering idly if the pan was done smoking. It was always distracting, having Bittle so close. “Which would've been a shame, your place is so much smaller than mine.” 

“Well, we can't all be NHL millionaires,” Bittle said haughtily. “But, really, your kitchen is so much nicer than mine. I would've cried if you'd burnt it down.” 

“I'll try to keep that in mind.” Jack pulled the pan back into the room and dumped it in the sink. “At least we’ve still got... _ fruit _ .” 

“Such a baby,” Bittle said, patting Jack’s cheek. “You  _ like _ strawberries.” 

“Not as much as I like you,” Jack said, pressing a kiss to the top of Bittle’s head. 

“I don't know if that was a sex joke or you just being sweet, but either way, you should take me back to bed,” Bittle said, grabbing Jack’s hand. “As long as you're certain  _ all _ of the burners are off.” 

“Promise they are,” Jack said, letting Bittle pull him from the kitchen. “...now.” 

“Well, then, if you're sure,” Bittle said, voice going softer and lower. “Let's go christen  _ our _ bed.” 

Jack didn't need any further persuasion. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this was literally inspired because i woke up with a craving for bacon, had to reason with myself that bacon could very potentially put me back in the hospital, craved bacon even harder, ate boring not-dangerous food, still craved bacon, and decided that if i couldn't have it, my boys could.
> 
> I'm on tumblr at [eve-baird.](http://eve-baird.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you like my writing, please check out my [new, original project. ](http://thediscourtknife.tumblr.com/)


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